


hold onto hope if you've got it

by rheniumvolution



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Braids, Gen, Just an old man reminiscing on What Might Have Been, M/M, There's no actual relationship stuff happening here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 10:19:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10965249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rheniumvolution/pseuds/rheniumvolution
Summary: "If I were to wear braids," he said very carefully, intensely aware that all ears were trained on every word, "what would I have, by dwarven standards?" He felt Thorin's gaze on him, insistent and considering, and wondered why the answer to this question was so important it made his heart pound."After," said Thorin. "I'll show you after. I promise.""Alright," said Bilbo. "Promise."





	hold onto hope if you've got it

"Do you think I could go on an adventure, when I grow up and get strong like you?" Frodo asked.

Bilbo drew the brush through his nephew's hair, smoothing out tangles. "I am not so strong anymore, my boy, and you're nearly grown now."

Frodo giggled. "I am not! I am barely a boy! That's what Ella at the market tells me every week!"

Bilbo's hands moved deftly. Somehow Frodo had gotten entangled in brambles earlier, and Samwise had come crying to Bilbo's door, shouting about the blood. Frodo wasn't badly hurt, just scraped and bruised and pouting bravely, holding back tears, but the state of his dark hair was frightful.

"Ella at the market says that to everyone; she has seen so many of us grow. And how would she know how big you've gotten, with her eyesight!"

"Uncle!" Frodo shrieked, delighted. "Don't be mean! She gives me strawberries!" He paused, little body wiggling. "Oops," he whispered. "I wasn't supposed to tell you that."

Bilbo laughed. "Like I wasn't aware. What do you take me for, my boy?"

"A very good uncle," Frodo said seriously, and settled once again.

With the fire place crackling in the background, and Bilbo's own voice humming softly, he felt his mind being pulled away from his home and his nephew, and back. Back to his own adventure, and the people he had left behind.

\--

The first time one of his dwarves had allowed him to do their braids, Bilbo had stammered out a thanks before hurrying to pull his fine comb out of his pack. They had all laughed at him, not unkindly, and Kíli had handed him his own brush, a silver thing with metal bristles that glimmered in the firelight like something precious. Given what little belongings the dwarves seemed to have, it probably was.

It took him some time to find a rhythm in Kili's thick hair, working out the knots that had formed on the day's ride.

"I'm sorry if I pull," he had said.

"I'd be more concerned if you didn't, Mister Baggins," said Kíli.

"Dwarf hair is a touch tougher than your own fine locks, Master Burglar," said Balin from across the fire.

"Be nice to the man," said Oín. "He's no experience with such things. But it's good he's learning such a useful skill! He'll need it, and we should be proud."

"And why," said Bilbo, "is this a skill I should have?"

Four of them turned to each other and started laughing, and Bilbo felt his face grow hot. Dwalin elbowed Thorin sharply in the ribs, forcing a cloud of smoke from his mouth.

"Care to explain?"

Thorin grunted, stepping sharply on Dwalin's foot, who only laughed.

"It's a long journey ahead," said Fili appeasingly, watching his uncle carefully with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "We've not even made it a third of the way yet. It's good to have an extra set of capable hands."

"Oh yes," said Kíli, "and Mister Baggins' hands are very capable, wouldn't you say, uncle?"

"Yes uncle," said Fíli, "aren't they?"

There were scattered chuckles, and Thorin hissed something under his breath before turning on his heel and disappearing.

Bilbo ignored their comments, and carried on. It took a while to get Kíli's hair to a state that could even be braided. By the time he did, Thorin had reappeared, looking both disgruntled and embarrassed, with Gandalf at his elbow, looking smug.

"I'm sorry," said Bilbo, "but what kind of braids would you like, Kíli?"

"Oh! Yes!" Kíli said, and paused. "Uncle, could you explain them, then? You know so much more than I do about these things."

Fíli huffed, "Like it's so hard to know more than you about anything, brother."

Kíli swatted at him, and Fíli dodged. Bilbo thought they might have continued, had Thorin not sat himself beside Bilbo and taken sections of Kíli's hair in his hands, who immediately quieted.

"Here," said Thorin quietly. "Two here, for his mother and brother. Kíli, beads."

Kíli passed the appropriate beads back silently as Bilbo's fingers wound the sections into neat plaits. Thorin handed him the beads to close them off, and Bilbo nodded.

"One there, for the people and family we have left behind." It was on the same side as the first two, but lower, and as Bilbo braided, Thorin would stay his hands at certain points and clasp smaller beads throughout.

"On the other side, he gets three. Close together, and the same size."

"What are these for?" Bilbo asked quietly, hands already moving. He almost didn't want to ask, for fear of breaking the quiet that Thorin's voice had brought over the group of them, save for soft humming from Balin, who was never silent.

"He's earned them," Thorin said simply, and Bilbo didn't press the matter.

Once the group was done, Thorin tapped Kíli's shoulder, and he shifted so his back was turned to Thorin.

"I'll do these," said Thorin, gathering hair and forming two quick braids, faster and more even than Bilbo could track with his eyes. He brought them back and joined them together, fastening more silver clasps within them. "There," he said, when he was done. "For sovereignty."

Bilbo looked at the braids, but he really wanted to look at Thorin, for he knew precisely what he would see there. The deepest longing he had ever seen in another being, for a family and a home he had taken from him. The quiet hot burning of someone who felt so loudly that it turned in on itself and became silent.

He patted Kíli's shoulder. Saying thank you didn't seem like quite enough.

"If I were to wear braids," he said very carefully, intensely aware that all ears were trained on every word, "what would I have, by dwarven standards?" He felt Thorin's gaze on him, insistent and considering, and wondered why the answer to this question was so important it made his heart pound.

"After," said Thorin. "I'll show you after. I promise."

"Alright," said Bilbo. "Promise."

\--

Frodo was asleep, or very nearly.

Bilbo was still humming, hands moving instinctively through his nephew's hair. He set aside the comb, placing it gently beside a few others in their box. He knew that underneath his family's combs, he could open the box's only drawer and find a finely crafted metal brush, carved with intricate lines, beside a single bead that Thorin had slipped into his hand in Laketown, with no explanation.

"If you were a dwarf," Bilbo whispered to his nephew, "I'd give you a braid right here, for myself, because I am alive and you are alive and you are my own heart. And another below it, for your parents, and all the other people we have left behind. That's how they keep their family, their people, alive, you know. They carried their dead wherever they went, because they had no gravesite to visit."

Frodo mumbled something, and shifted in Bilbo's arms. "Wha' 'bout you, uncle? Wha' braids'd you 'ave? If y'were a dwarf?"

Bilbo's arms tightened around his nephew, and Thorin's face flickered in his memory, sad and fierce and shadowed by firelight and tragedy.

"I'm not sure, my boy. I never got the chance to find out. But I am sure they would have been beautiful."

In his lap, Frodo sighed, and Bilbo felt his breathing even and slow, and his own breathing too, and they slept.

**Author's Note:**

> comments/questions/concerns? @liminalwitch


End file.
